


The Daughter of the Gods

by Sunevial



Series: The Followers [6]
Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: The Followers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22234606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunevial/pseuds/Sunevial
Summary: “This might be a little presumptuous of me, but how did you end up here?”“I told you, I pissed her off, she killed me, threw me into her games, then thought I was useful or something.”“See, that’s interesting, because I read Bookkeeper’s version of the events, and in that one, you made a deal to get revenge on a battle gone wrong and then ended up in her games to cool off.”“...so what if they’re not the same. It’s not like anyone outside our circle knows about Witch’s daughter.”“Maybe not, but your story is always the most inconsistent of them all. I’ve seen a dozen different variations and they all end differently. Almost like you’d rather have no one know the truth.”“You tell anyone and I’ll make you more dead than you already are.”“I would expect nothing less, my dear Huntress.”“...fine. But only because it’s you.”
Series: The Followers [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869193
Kudos: 2





	The Daughter of the Gods

The early morning sun beat down on the dirt road, stifling and with little wind to disperse the stagnant air. However, even in such disgusting weather as this, the ring of bronze swords still clashed in the valley below, methodical and loud and proud as one by one, women took up arms and donned their polished armor. Horses brayed but stood unmoving as their mistresses hooked pouches to saddles and sharpened spears. While it was impossible to say that any army could muster ‘quickly’, the lightly armored amazons were built for speed. 

Looking down from the hill, a woman smiled for just a moment before turning back to the path. She was not the tallest of her sisters nor the strongest, but she was undeniably built for war. Eyes a pale blue, skin a healthy tan, hair like golden wheat tied back under a silver laurel wreath, already dressed in polished bronze armor with a rich red cape, helmet tucked under her right arm. Sandals hitting hard dirt that turned to solid stone, she strode up the great temple steps with her head held high. 

Two women at the doors straightened as they saw their queen approaching, saying nothing as she passed into the holy space. With each step, the sounds of her mustering forces faded to a gentle din, light fading until there were just oil lamps casting shadows between the stone pillars. Stone turned to soft rug under her feet, lingering incense mixing with blood of sacrificed animals as she approached the altar. Setting her helmet on the ground, the woman knelt and bowed her head.

“I call upon Ares, Son of Zeus and Hera, God of War, patron of the Amazons,” she began, trying to recall the words her mother had said so often on days such as this. This was not her first campaign, nor would it be her last, but the words never did seem to come as easy now that her mother had left this world. With one hand, she lit a stick of incense and placed it within a bowl. “...my father, to aid us in battle, to bring us victory and honor and the spoils of war. Fight alongside us this day.”

The voice that answered was not the distant and harsh voice of her father from his residence atop Mount Olympus, one that she had come to rather dislike as the years had passed and he never once properly appeared before her. Instead, it was feminine, light and teasing, pulling from every shadow within the room. “Are you really expecting an answer from that warmongering oaf? I thought you would’ve learned better than to ask him for help after your mother died of, what was it again, oh right, blood poisoning. Horrible way to go, you know, dying slowly on the battlefield.”

She did not move even as her eyes opened, jumping from column to column as she searched for something resembling a body. As expected, she was greeted with little other than darkened corners and flickering lamps. A spirit, perhaps a god powerful enough or stupid enough to disrespect the halls of another. Either way, she knew much. Too much. “I do not know who you are, but you defile this place with your presence,” the woman said, taking a piece of flint and flaring an oil-filled brazier to life. “Whatever you bring, I do not want it.”

“Even if I could give you glory in battle? Make you the greatest queen your people have ever known?” she asked as the form of a short woman flickered behind the flames. “Bring you power and strength beyond your wildest dreams? Surely a woman as great as you would want one of those.”

“Whatever powers you may bring, it pales in comparison to what my father grants me by blood alone,” the woman replied, throwing a handful of herbs and a bit of copper into the flames. With a flash, the brazier turned a bright blue-green, obscuring the woman’s figure with marbling colors. No distinct pattern, no word from her father, a strange visitor; whatever omens these were, they were obscure. “And whatever I would have to give in return would not be worth the cost of a cheaply won battle. Leave.”

The strange spirit scowled, huffing in a manner that was pathetically childlike. “Well, fine then, suit yourself,” she said through gritted teeth. “But we both know one thing. He’s not going to help you. Do you really think he’s paying attention to you if he hasn’t kicked me out of his temple yet?”

“Say another word and I’ll gladly do it for him,” the woman growled, rising to her feet and drawing her falchion with a single motion. With a deadly precision, she parted the colored flames and held her sword aloft. “Leave this place, foul devil, so say I as the Daughter of Dimareti, as Queen of the Amazons. I go with the might of Ares on my side. You have nothing but cheap words and the empty promises of a false god.”

Not about to allow the spirit to get a final word in or get her name, the woman scooped up her hemet and firmly planted it onto her head as she marched out of the temple. She had no need for gifts that would bring her more harm than good. Her sisters, her wit, her strength; all she needed was this victory and her mother would be avenged. 

If this was a test of her resolve, she had passed it. There was the omen she needed.

Stepping out into the sunlight, she held her shield to the sky and let her voice carry down the valley. “To arms, my sisters! We shall be tested, but we go with resolve!”

The rally cry of the amazons answered her with bloodthirsty roars.

* * *

Blood pooled from a long cut down the woman’s side, each step taking her past a fallen sister as she cursed the gods with every agonizing breath. An ambush, enemies refusing to face her forces outright and instead taking down their finely bred horses and best spearwomen with a deliberate avalanche. With the cavalry wiped out, the battle was over before it even began. 

A least a couple dozen dead. Some captured, a fate many of her sisters would consider worse than death. Some escaped. Not many, but some. 

Resting her back against a rock, she tore a strip of cloth from her cape and bound her torso as best as she could. Despite the pain, she never dropped her sword or shield, eyes darting around the carnage and ears open for any stragglers. She was not leaving this place, not until she was certain she was the last person standing amongst this field of blood and treachery and poor decisions. 

Minutes passed, each one longer than the last. None of her battle-clad kin ran her way.

She had lost. Her mother remained unavenged. 

Her father… 

“I told you he wasn’t listening,” the voice said, ringing in her ears as a short woman stepped out from behind another crag. Her dress was red and black, decidedly out of place for such hot weather. She tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling in what could be mistaken for sympathy. “I wanted to help you, you know, give you a little something so you could maybe come out the victor of this battl-”

“Silence,” she seethed, pointing her sword towards the woman. “If you caused their deaths by my refusal, I swear on the River Styx I will cut you down and avenge every last one of them.”

“I did nothing to cause that ambush, you’re the one who turned me down,” the strange god retorted, narrowing her eyes. “But, since I’m nice and you really seem to be in a bad spot, how about we try this again. You clearly have strength and martial prowess already, so why not add to it, Daughter of Ares? A bestial power through your body, a weapon that will never fail you, allies who will be quick to aid you, it’s all yours.”

The woman sneered, standing taller and prouder as she desperately tried to ignore the fire burning in her side. Battles had come and gone, and she had survived cuts far deeper and far more deadly than this one. Had those warriors coated their blades with poison as well? Was this was her mother felt when she was dying? “And what benefit do you gain from doing all that?”

“Someone competent in warfare, of course,” she replied with a wicked smile. “Someone who knows how to inspire that sort of terror that only a daughter of war knows how. A general bathed in blood. Perfect for a god of murder, don’t you think?”

The words rang in her ears, loud and horrifying as she realized exactly who and what she was looking upon. Years of pushing aside her emotions fell away for a moment as she took a step back in utter revulsion. “You’re mad if you think I’d take such a deal,” the woman spat, sheathing her sword and turning her back on the god. Despite the pain and a shaking feeling deep inside her soul, she planted solid steps into the rocky terrain, fueled by spite if nothing else. “Leave me. I will not ask a second time.”

Again refusing to hear the god’s anger laden and bitter words, she ran as far as her injured body would allow, rocks turning to water to forest earth under her feet, each step filled with an increasing sorrow for the sisters who would never live another day, each curse filled with a rage that burned hotter and brighter than even the wound pulsing at her side. Animals watched her run, deer and ferrets and crows watching her silently in the distance. These ones had seen her, knew her fierce hand only rendered the flesh of humans and not of beasts of the wood or waters if she could help it. 

They would be the only witnesses to her mourning, and unlike the eyes of her sisters or soldiers or gods, they would not judge her tears.

She ran until her steps faltered, falling to one knee amongst a copse of dying trees with enough of the clearing to see the clouded sky. Dropping her shield and planting her sword deep into the ground, she turned her head to the heavens and screamed out her rage.

“How _dare_ you abandon my mother, a woman you claimed to love but left alone to raise a child. She _loved_ you, and because of you, she died with poison in her blood and sorrow in her heart. How _dare_ you abandon my sisters, your chosen daughters, to death or bondage. And how _dare_ you abandon me, a child you refused to raise but still expect me to call you father. How _dare_ you make me swear my loyalty when you will not even look upon your daughter’s face.”

The earth shook, ringing with the clash of a thousand swords as a man appeared, tall and imposing and dressed ready for battle. In a way, he was beautiful, form almost sculpted from clay or chiseled from stone, strong and utterly built for the art of war. His eyes looked of molten lava, cold and utterly furious in turn. “Have you learned no respect, you insolent child?”

“How like you to refuse my call to aid my sisters and I for years but appear when I dare question you,” the woman spat, refusing to lower her head. Somehow, she knew this is how they would meet, not with him lifting her up and granting her the grace of the gods, but with him looking down on her as if she was nothing more than a worm. “Have you come to aid me in my revenge for the death of my kin, _father_?”

His words cut her ears like knives, and she could feel him trying to force her head down with heavy hand made of power and presence alone. “Speak that way to me again and it shall be your last,” he said, cracking the earth as he planted his spear into the ground. There was no trace of pity or sympathy in his eyes, only the desire for him to be obeyed and respected for his authority. “I will give you one chance to recant those words and cool your tongue, daughter of mine.”

So, this was the thanks she got for years of loyalty and reverence.

Either submit and be humiliated, or stand firm and be struck down.

“I was not the one who abandoned his child to the wolves of this world,” she hissed, pushing past the divine presence and rising to her feet. With a hard face and an even tone, daring to look him in the eye, she stood tall and proud, unbending, unmoving. “I curse your name thrice on the River Styx.”

She felt nothing.

* * *

The banks of the river were cold. 

For some reason, that surprised her.

Tossing a small coin between her fingers, the woman looked across the dark waters, trying to see anything through the fog and masses of dead. On the other side of that river laid the Underworld, land of the dead, and one of her final resting places. That was assuming, of course, she had been properly buried after her father’s spear shattered her ribcage and carved up her heart. Without something even close to a burial, Charon would not take her across even with a coin to pay the toll. She would be stuck on the far side of the bank, and unable to receive her judgement and simply exist in this limbo…possibly forever. 

Knowing her father, she considered the possibility of a proper grave to be laughably optimistic. 

The woman walked closer to the river, pushing past a veritable legion of wayward souls looking to cross. Her hand was translucent, her movements felt lighter than air, and yet she made contact with every person she bumped or touched. Time seemed to stretch and dilate, moving too fast at times and too slow at others, but she forced the sea to part and eventually found a path to the edge of the waters. She stood there, slightly unsure exactly why she had made such a trip; her mother wouldn’t be able to hear her apologies anyways.

“Oh, there you are.”

Following the voice, she spotted for the first time a woman floating a little over the river. She was tall, almost impossibly so, long chestnut hair draping over a green robe. A quill and scroll rested in her hands, currently inactive. Hovering to her left was a man with dark purple wings, dressed simply but looking down at her with eyes that could split a man in two. Unlike everyone else around, they seemed unnaturally present. 

“Who are you two?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“It is less about who we are and more of who we come bearing a message from,” the man said, his voice pointed and yet somehow entirely expressionless. 

“Then I would appreciate if you would get on with it,” she replied, eyeing both of them with an attentive glare.

The floating woman unfurled her scroll, reading over its contents with a cursory glance. “To keep things short, I am the Bookkeeper, he is the Lieutenant. According to the missive our Captain has given, she has approached you twice with an offer, yes?”

Ah, so these two were some of her servants, and they could freely enter into Hades’s domain. Lovely. Perfect. Wonderful. Even in death, she would get no rest. “If you are speaking of the crazy woman who entered into our temple and appeared before me not long ago, then yes.”

“She is known as the Murder God, and despite your insistent refusal to listen to her proposal, she has extended her offer one last time,” Bookkeeper continued, snapping the parchment shut. “The previous parameters stand, and should you wish to make a deal with her, we will take you to her to arrange the terms in person. However, as this is the domain of a different god, she has elected to send us in her place to deliver the message.”

The queen, no former queen, laughed once and rolled her eyes. “So she sent a floating scribe and a winged lover of darkness to try and convince me that working with her is a good idea over spending my days in the Underworld?”

Lieutenant did not move an inch, but his glare deepened. “That is correct.” 

“I have also been told to inform you that your body was left in the woods and as of this writing has not been found by your kin or anyone who would be able to give you funeral rites,” Bookkeeper said, looking over her with indifferent eyes. “So, as of currently, it seems that you will not be crossing the river.”

If there had been any color left in the woman’s face, it would have drained away. Unsurprising as it was, this was the final confirmation that any chance she would have at seeing her mother or her sisters would be for naught. That truly was her father’s last punishment for her: to fade into obscurity, forgotten and severed from her people. All for daring to want recognition, support, respect, answers. For wanting a family.

If she chose this path, she was giving up redemption. 

If she chose this path, she would never see her mother again.

The woman squared her shoulders, holding out her hand.

* * *

“You know, I’m really surprised to see you here.”

“You said I could have anything I wanted. Anything at all.”

“Well, not quite anything, but I can usually get pretty close.”

“Give me a body. Give me the future that was stolen from me. Do that and I’ll become your general bathed in blood. I’ve killed before, I can do it again and again as many times as you want. I just refuse to let this be how it ends.”

“Hm…alright…if that’s the deal you want to make…what is your name, my new Huntress?”

Ë̵̢́͗͜u̸͕͉̔r̸̲̯̈́y̶̨̦̿̾l̴͎̿ȅ̵͖̙͗i̴̩̐ą̸̻̀


End file.
